


playing by the same hand

by PhantomhiveStripper



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Future Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 03:07:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,079
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8828068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomhiveStripper/pseuds/PhantomhiveStripper
Summary: A century after he has consumed Ciel Phantomhives soul, Sebastian's current contractor asks about the sapphire ring he wears on his finger, and hears the story of Sebastians most treasured master.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from 'Changing' by Sigma ft Paloma Faith

“Sebastian. Tell me about that ring.”

Her servant pauses. He pulls the handbrake of the car up, and meets her eyes in the rear-view mirror. He doesn’t answer immediately; for the first time since they met, he seems somewhat reluctant. It only intrigues her more. The ring had glinted bright enough to catch her eye even when he came to her in his true demon form, and he has never removed it that she has seen, except to polish and shine it with the utmost care. It is indeed beautiful – a massive square sapphire set on a solid silver band, the finest filigree where the stone meets the band – but she doubts he keeps it with him for its value. The devil does not seem to care about material things, and the way he treasures it speaks of something almost… sentimental.

He does not speak as he steps out of the car and opens her own door, nor as he unbuckles her seatbelt. In fact, he stays decidedly silent all the way up the stairs and into her own dingy apartment.

“Sebastian,” she says when they are both inside, voice stern. “Do not ignore me. Do I have to order you to answer me?”

Sebastian seems to almost startle at her voice and turns around from closing the door. She is shocked at what she sees in his eyes – they have gone from their usual maroon to a blazing scarlet red, but the violence of the colour is nothing to the expression in his eyes. The eyes are far away and lost in past times. They are reminiscent, and make the devil look oddly hopeful, oddly vulnerable.

Of course not, she thinks to herself. Devils are lustful, base creatures. They have no understanding of such higher-level, human emotions. But still, what a strange look to see in a devils eyes…

She shakes herself out of her thoughts to look upon Sebastian, who has now been brought back to the present from – wherever he was. He looks at her with the same look of polite disinterest she gets nearly all the time. “It belonged to a previous contractor,” he says, voice clinical and calm. His face holds none of its previous emotion, but this is a significant admission. He held enough regard towards a previous contractor to keep a token of his existence. What kind of human managed to worm himself into a demons regard? What kind of demon allowed himself to grow attached to its food?

But the demon is shut off now. His face has closed, and he begins to light the fireplace in the small flat; she does not know where he goes at night, but she does not permit him to stay in the apartment with her. If he sleeps, he does it elsewhere, but she does not want his lurking presence skulking around while she sleeps, unawares.

The sun has just begun to set; she ate at work, and Sebastian does not need sustenance. Normally he would do household chores while she reads or knits in her own room, and then leave, but tonight she waits until she hears him begin the polishing of her silverware – a ridiculous task that is wholly unnecessary in her opinion, but he insists – and then calls him to her room.

“Yes, my lady?”

“Come here.” For once she doesn’t reprimand him on the use of the outdated, formal title he uses on her. He looks calculatingly at her when she beckons him down into the seat by her bed.

“Tell me about this previous masters of yours.”

He stiffens, his eyes flashing the same hue as before, burning bright. Almost reflexively, his hand shoots to the ring, situated on his pinkie finger, and strokes the bright gem. When he speaks, his words are stilted and reluctant.

“I hardly understand why you would be interested in my previous contractors. You are the only one I am dedicated to, the only one who matters–”

“I know,” she cuts him off, waving a hand dismissively. “I already know this. But I’m curious. Tell me, what human was special enough to earn attachment, even sentimentality, from a _demon_?”

The demon stares deep into her eyes, a slight furrow in his brow, lips pursed, but it is not her he is seeing; for the second time he appears to be less than his usually confident, sneering self. It is unsettling to see, but also almost a privilege to witness this demon as less than put together, as though he has lost control of his usual competent manner.

Despite the unspoken order in the sentence, he pauses for longer still, thumb still smoothing over the surface of the ring. She sighs in irritation. “Seeing as you are clearly incapable of speaking for yourself, you can start with how long ago this was.”

He sighs, and then seems to decide there is little harm in humouring her. “I contracted him one hundred and twenty four years ago.”

She is slightly shocked at the amount of time – but then again, she has no idea of his true age; a century could seem like the blink of an eye for him. “How long were you contracted for?”

The answer to this comes slightly easier. “Five years.”

This truly throws her; to her young human mind, that seems like a very long time. From her knowledge, demons were able to complete tasks ridiculously quickly, so for the conditions of the contract to take five years to carry out… “What did he want?”

“Revenge.”

This is said so softly, so reverently, that her head jerks up to look at him; he is now staring somewhere in the area above her bed, lost in the past, his face relaxed and thrown back. She fears that anything further from her will snap him out of his reverie and jolt him back to being reticent and closed. Eventually he begins to speak, but it is in a low and quiet voice. He seems to be talking to himself, as though he is unaware she is there.

“His parents were murdered when he was ten years old, his manor burnt down, and he was kidnapped by occultists. He spent a month being tortured, perhaps raped, I never found out. When he summoned me, I was taken aback by what a tiny thing he was, barely four and a half foot tall, covered in blood and filled with enough hatred to pull me from the depths of hell. I hadn’t been looking for a contract, but the despair and power of his soul called to me. He had such pure potential cruelty, but it was all untapped. The glory of it was that he finally wanted to use it.

“I still might not have agreed to the contract if it weren’t for the fact that even with a stab wound in his side, even in a room of caged children that smelt of piss and sweat and fear, even through the most traumatic event of his entire life, he hadn’t cried. Not one single tear. And that was how I knew how _exquisite_ his soul would be… driven by revenge, powered by the loss of his entire world, seasoned with cruelty and cunning and hatred, but still pure with the knowledge of human love and joy.

“And how he challenged me. His expectations were high, and he never failed to exert his power over me. I think he was the only master who I have ever had to struggle to work for. He was the watchdog of the Queen you see, the head of a house of villainous nobles. We worked together to manage the criminal England underground, as he had taken on the role of his father, and was now Earl himself. Always perfectly aristocratic, in the most morally ambiguous of ways. He was always finding loopholes in orders of the queen, always working out ways where he could get what he desired while still keeping his own peculiar sense honour. And he was always making sure I never had any loophole to squeeze out of; I don’t think anyone had ever gotten the better of me until I started working for him. For every time I saved his life, he found some new way to put me in my place.

“Everybody was jealous of him. For his wealth, his power, his mind, his _beauty._ Even I had some form of envy for his complete and utter conviction; he never doubted himself. The way he spoke _made_ something the truth. And over time, I came to respect that. Over time, as he grew colder and wiser and even more resilient than he already was, breaking human boundaries of cruelty, he also began to become more tolerant, amusing, even charming. His soul only got of higher and higher quality as he aged, as he became even more of a contradiction than at the beginning.

“It wasn’t even me who found the target of his revenge. He followed a man at a ball, overheard him speaking to those who mentioned the occultist group who had imprisoned him. He tricked them into telling him who it was, told me, and when we lured them in, he was the one who taunted them, and he was the one who killed them. But he gave me his soul anyway; said I had a right to it, as he surely wouldn’t have survived long enough to exact revenge without me. He said he had nothing to live for anyhow, now that he knew the people who had ruined his life would suffer for eternity like they deserved, and he far preferred the idea of joining me forever than being damned to hell as he surely would. He was proud to the very end – he did not ask for mercy, or for me to be gentle. He wanted it brutal, the pain etched in his soul for the rest of eternity, as proof he had lived.”

Here Sebastian pauses, still lost in thought; she thinks he has forgotten she is here, but she stays still and silent, lest she break him out of his memories and stop the story. It is the longest she has ever heard him speak, and doubtless the most interesting thing she has ever heard of before. But several minutes pass by, which reach 5, and then 10, and after 15 minutes she whispers, “Did you do it?”

Sebastian jerks back, black hair swaying in front of his face as he blinks quickly.

“My apologies, my lady,” he says as he stands, placing a hand on his chest and bowing. “I forgot myself. Please, allow me to leave you to rest in-“

She reaches out and grabs him by the wrist. “You can’t stop there!” she says, voice embarrassingly high-pitched. “Finish the story! Did you do it? Did you take his soul?”

He pauses and looks at her curiously. “Very well,” he says, and sinks back into the chair.

“I took his soul, and fulfilled my end of the contract. They all shudder at the last, but not him. He welcomed oblivion like no-one ever had. But I find myself spoiled by perfection; having something is never quite as good as wanting something, as working for it and cultivating it. I know that I shall never find another soul, nor another human, that is anything like my young master. And so I keep this ring, as a reminder of the most excellent soul to walk the universe, and to relish my accomplishment.”

“…Do you regret it then?”

Another pause, and then Sebastian fixes a mocking stare on his current contractor. “Regret is a human emotion, my lady. Devils would not sink so low as to commit actions they would later think badly upon. Do I regret the best meal of my entire, ancient life? Of course not.”

But as he turns to make his way out of the room, there is a slight furrow in his brow, as though he is thinking very hard, and she cannot help but be somewhat unconvinced.

“Sebastian, one more thing,” she calls, right as he is slipping out of the room. “This earl of yours… what was his name?”

He smirks, and it is devilishly fiendish. “Ah, my lady. I _sincerely regret_ to inform you that some things… some things must remain between a butler and his lord.”

And with that, he slips out of the door and into the night.


End file.
